MidLife Crisis
by Zilindico
Summary: In his latest reincarnation, good ol' Drac is suffering a little stress over his chronic failing. A fun parody of the Castlevania series, written for Creative Writing.


The fingers of Count Dracula rolled and tapped sharply on the arm rest of his cold, marble throne. The absolute lord of darkness did not look very pleased as he stared into the abyss, his solitude in the lavish throne room without comfort.

Matthew, one of Vlad's more consistent servants for the past few centuries, peeked his head around the open door to his master's ruling room and queried, "My lord? Is there anything I can do for you, oh master of all evilness and such?"

Though Matthew may have been dependable in his service, Dracula still considered him a bitter annoyance. "No, slave. I need nothing. Leave me be."

The servant let himself in, as he had never quite learned the whole "unwilling minion" etiquette. "You look tense, oh lord of dark, flying things. Is it about the next invasion of Europe? Or are you worried about another Belmont showing up?"

A vein of anger pulsed quite visibly on Drac's temple. "Why must you remind me of that wretched family? You know how it displeases me."

Matthew put a hand to his own hip. "Well excuse me, great evil one, but I'd be concerned, too. Every time you come back from the dead--er, from wherever it is you go every time you get smacked around, some Belmont or Helsing or Belmont _upstart_ finds his way to the castle and hands your ass to you. Couldn't you at least consider looking into new defenses for the castle?"

Vlad rubbed his aching head to soothe his growing migraine. "I see nothing wrong with the defenses this time, they shall hold against any aggressors we might face."

"Cerberus was killed by Nathan Graves. Vampira was killed by Simon Belmont. The Grim Reaper was killed--er, whipped to death by everyone that's been in the castle. Hell, I think the mailman probably smacked him around, too. Did you ever think of buying some machine guns, maybe a missile launcher or two? I mean, hell, we still have some of our demon deal-makers over in Iraq and the U.S., I'm sure they can get us some nukes at least."

Dracula rose to his feet in an instant, his gaze narrowing towards his servant. "Fool!" his voice bellowed like a black hole, if such a cosmic force had vocal cords or the ability to produce sound. "Nuclear weapons are insignificant next to the power of _darkness!"_

Matthew was barely phased; he was already undead, after all. "And how many times have you been killed--er, defeated, my neck-nibbling overlord? Around twenty or so? You've come back to life--er, death--er, whatever--so many times and you've still barely accomplish conquering the whole of Europe. All you ever do is reappear, send out the demons, and redecorate the castle."

The dark lord slumped back onto his throne, resting his head in his hands. He muttered, "Maybe you're right. But what else is there for an undead lord of darkness to do? It's not like I can go out and get a college education. My son, Alucard, refuses to have anything to do with me besides lecturing me about the whole 'soul reaping' thing. Maybe I am a failure." He sighed. "Is this what they call a mid-life crisis?"

"Technically, lord of the bumps in the night, I think you have to be alive and near the middle of your life expectancy." Matthew stepped closer to the ailing dark lord and rested a foot on the bottom step leading up to the throne. "Can I speak plainly, Drac? Let's just quit this whole conquest of Europe thing and do something else. Hey, you always love redecorating the castle every time a Belmont blows it up, so why don't you start a home redecorating business? All those goths and morbid horror fans would love this antique Victorian drug-trip look. Y' know, I knew a guy back in my day that knew a lot about this kinda business stuff, that could probably help ya out. Sure he's been dead since the early 19th century, but that's never stopped you before."

Still clutching his aching head, Dracula raised his weary eyes to spit out, "Home redecorating? That's your brilliant plan? Home redecorating?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Well what do you want, Dark Lord of the Sith? Family counseling for you, Alucard, and the Countess Bathory? Your own blood bank? The Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders? You have to think realistically here, master of moonlight. You're planning on conquering _Europe._ What's in Europe besides France and maybe some Swedish meatballs? Why aren't we conquering the world instead? Hell, Microsoft's already almost beaten you to it. Your worshippers are demented, your plans are inept, and you're turning into more of a wuss every time you're resurrected."

The eyes of the lord of all darkness became blood red as he rose once more, a fiery anger raging through him. "You will know your place, servant, or you shall feel the kiss of death like you could never imagine."

Matthew casually turned away while replying, "Bite me, Drac. Oh shi--"

* * *

Disclaimer: All references to Castlevania are copyright Konami. Dracula, I hope, is not copyrighted. 


End file.
